


Snowfrost Feathers

by EriiErii



Series: Kiransona Collection [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Angst and Feels, Animal Transformation, Burns, Developing Relationship, Impled/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, Original Character(s), Past Animal Abuse (transformed beast unit), Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Polyamory, References to Crane Wife/Grateful Crane, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, references to past character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23396209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EriiErii/pseuds/EriiErii
Summary: As Hrid thought he would die at Surtr's hand, Erin and her party rescued him from a fiery death. As he spends his time with them recuperating from his unfortunate, unusual wounds, his more emotional scars spurned him to try to find any way he can to repay his debt to them all, no matter how painful or self-destructive.However, what they didn't know, or expect, was that the prince of Ice was a beast, specifically a crane. And the beauty behind his gifts of finely-woven cloth were carefully crafted from his far uglier self-destruction of his own body. With a poisoned mind who believed he could never truly be loved for what he was, he continues to weave for them for as long as he could get away with his secrets.
Relationships: Camilla/Hríd/Líf/Ryoma/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, Camilla/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, Hríd/Camilla, Hríd/Ryoma, Hríd/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, Líf/Camilla, Líf/Hrid, Líf/Ryoma (Fire Emblem), Líf/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, Ryoma/Camilla, Ryoma/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran
Series: Kiransona Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652392
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Snowfrost Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! For post updates, questions, art and general random silliness in between, check me out at eriisaam.tumblr.com for more!

There was an old rumor of heron laguz who survived the burning of Serenes Forest by virtue that they had - suddenly, and without warning - disappeared from the forest, never to return. It was never understood in Tellius why they were swept away or where, and it was much more reasonable to assume they perished so deep in the flames that their bodies disappeared into ash.

In Zenith, birds distinctly similar to herons used to fly the skies of the continent, believed to be brought to the world through the power of the First Summoner’s Breidablik. They became a symbol that heralded the bonds shared between King Lif, Empress Thrasir and Summoner Kiran as a united force over their shared power to tie together the many worlds. To this day, there were tributes made throughout history to them between the statues that honored them throughout Askr and Embla, their image woven and displayed on tapestries or brushed into paintings, or the feathers that would line Zenithian clothes or inspire the designs of Zenithian armor. 

However, what would’ve initially be considered a great service to Tellius for the rescue of herons, who would’ve otherwise been lost to the flames of Serenes, had such gratitude twisted when it was learned what they became.

As the herons of Zenith took refuge throughout the countries, their passive nature became equally a feat of legend as it was what became their undoing. They were still pacifists in Zenith just as they were in Tellius, but the world of Zenith lacked the protection the herons held - as not to have their kindness so easily taken for granted - as the herons of Tellius had in the hawk and raven tribes, or the laguz in general. They sought for peace and alliances over conflict in a world where the kingdoms Lif and Thrasir founded had eventually been driven to vicious wars spanning across the many worlds. They were, for the most part, delicate, passive and fragile in a world that slowly forced even the most peaceful of heroes to harden themselves just to survive. And perhaps the most glaring of their weakness was how they held an unwavering loyalty and trust to those they open their hearts to, even ones who eventually proved that trust was misplaced. Just as they would’ve been driven out and crushed by the growing forces gathered in the name of the dragon, Muspell, they retreated to a land of eternal snow, in a last ditch effort to save themselves, where they fled to the domain of Muspell’s rival dragon, Nifl. She welcomed them under her wings and recognized them as her children forevermore, and though her homelands were cold and harsh, she extended her homelands to the surviving herons.

Even if Nifl - and the kingdom whom would be named in her honor - were henceforth believed to be home of what remained to be the herons, they changed in ways that marked their unfortunate end in the eyes of what few laguz who learned of them.

The herons of Nifl changed in their appearance. When their tails once carried long, beautiful trains of feathers, and whose heads sprouted long feathers for fringes along their crowns, had eventually disappeared. It was said that the bitterness of the cold would freeze them off and wilt away, until their descendants lost their beautiful feathers completely in favor of far shorter, ruffled crowns and plain, short fans along their tails. The more cynical would say that the Muspellians had repeatedly burned their beautiful trains and crowns to such extremes that such were lost to their modern descendants after a while.

Their coloring had changed as well over time. While they were initially of one sole color in their feathers, and the pigment of their bodies would denote the ranking of the heron, the herons of Nifl had their pigments change all throughout their bodies that gave way to a different name for them altogether. Though their bodies were primarily white, they lost all meaning and significance of what used to denote heron royalty. They blemished themselves with wings lining their primary feathers in black, faces and necks plastered with similar black hues, and red that smeared the top of their heads; colors that led to many dismissing them as _cranes_ rather than _herons_. There were variances between grey, brown, or white bodies or patterns, but the heron hierarchy among them was no longer easily told in their feather pigments.

But what became the most damning of all the changes the herons had - or rather, the _cranes_ had - was their changes in demeanors and their habitats. They were peaceful at first, but when their patron dragon left her domain entirely to the cranes and their descendants, the weight in protecting their one true home had drove them into maintaining wars and stalemates with Muspell time and again in spite of their wish for peace. Where herons would drive themselves easily sick at the consumption of meat, and were highly against even the act of hunting, the cranes, in their bird forms or otherwise, lost such restraints and reservations, initially in the name of survival through the bitter cold, and eventually, by choice. By the time the lands of Nifl grew bountiful in snow-kissed varieties of fruits and vegetables, they adapted as omnivores. 

It was also said that in the act of forgetting the goddess and turning against her will (or so the rumors say), their voices no longer carried the same magical potent properties of the galdrars the herons were so heavily prized for, even if they attempted to sing. Instead, they were blessed by Nifl with a power like hers: the power to attune with ice and frost, the powers to draw in cold air and chill for their own as to weaponize it both magically and in forged weaponry, and the power of harnessing their sensitivity toward dreams.

Among the puritans of those who revered the herons, the cranes were a direct insult to even be considered in the same family. They were ridiculed as a mockery of their legendary counterparts and malicious rumors were spun about the Nifilian cranes throughout Zenith among the laguz who had their hopes crushed at the news of more surviving herons. 

They say that cranes would grant a life’s debt to those whom rescued them, especially among the harsh snowstorms of Nifl. It was also believed that a Nifilian’s power was capable of creating ice crystals that never melted, and rivaled the luster and beauty of jewels carved from ore, or how they could weave beautiful fabric and charms out of nothing, both of which were valuable commodities. That much had been true, and was what led to the supposed credibility of the far crueler rumors surrounding them.

There were tales spun that cranes would also visit others in dreams. Some might be passive enough to only leave it as such, while others would use such a power to attack people at their most vulnerable. Perhaps, they may do even worse, especially when those who aren’t killed in the world of dreams only have their exhaustion and fright upon waking up to show evidence they were visited in their dreams by a crane. Whether or not such intentions or extent of such powers were true, the damage was done, and it made them even more demonized that Niflians had eventually stripped themselves of their wings and forms, until such ill-omened birds were lost among human-presenting royals long enough to be dismissed as mere superstition.

Or at least, that was the kinder side of such a belief. The harsher side of such truths were the frequency people would try to endanger Niflian cranes on purpose to force them to declare their life’s debt to them, and to then abuse such loyalties to their bitter ends, until the alternative belief were that the birds were eventually wiped out in favor of the human descendants who ruled Nifl.

No matter the true reasons, sightings of such birds dwindled, until they were believed to be no more. Though the people of Nifl carried on similar beliefs of owing life’s debts when rescued, they were believed to be honor codes more out of respect of the cranes whom once governed them in Nifl’s earlier centuries. Beyond their deep roots left behind in Niflian culture, they were otherwise little more than folktales.

* * *

Which left the curious case that was the eldest prince of Nifl, Hrid.

Cranes already had enough ridicule from the whole of Zenith. He knew how to transform into his bird form, but he was taught since he was a child to not even so much as hint to such an ability, let alone to use it while under the scrutiny of the public eye. He was taught this lesson heavily by his parents, as had his sisters, ever since they were little.

“Don’t let anyone see your form. If they do, run while you can. Be careful who you trust, or else they will take everything from you. They will strip you of your precious wings and leave you to die.”

So between him and his siblings, he did just that. They swore, as they came of age to learn the truth, to hide their forms as cranes as carefully as they could, as if their lives depended on it. And should they be discovered, they were to fly away and abandon the area. Even when he was so young, he could recognize the weight in Queen Eliva’s words and the experience behind what made such warnings feel so dire.

Even if he hadn’t promised - to her, or otherwise - he also knew he was a freak even by the standards of a crane. Eliva tried not to teach him such, and he was soothed many times over by his siblings while growing up, but he was constantly reminded his key differences from his siblings that still haunted him.

Even if he hadn’t been the oldest, he grew up far bigger and bulkier than his sisters. Compared to how elegant, graceful and delicate his sisters looked that betrayed their hidden strengths, he was a big, clumsy brute who towered over them, far betraying the typical demeanor of a crane in human form. It didn’t take away from his dexterity, his crafting skills, or his skills in combat, but beyond the battlefield, he felt he lacked beauty or grace otherwise.

And even as he thought he could at least make a difference to protect his family and kingdom, if nothing else, he was heavily proven otherwise he wasn’t as capable as he thought of such a task after all.

In his exhaustion, he barely remembered the details of what led him into this mess in the first place. He vaguely remembered a soothing voice in his dreams as a hooded figure spoke with him. All he remembered was seeing something red and black underneath the hood with striking grey eyes, and he remembered feeling calmed and soothed following an anxious dip into his woes and despair, but he couldn’t remember her name or the exact words. Even to remember what he had, he had to will himself to cling to what little fragments he could of the hooded woman he spoke to in his dreams.

It gave him the confidence to try to defend Nifl as Surtr’s forces were closing in. It gave him the strength and resolve to break through nigh impossible odds to tear through the advancing forces. But even with his resolve, that alone wasn’t enough to break through the power of the Rite of Flames, and he didn’t have the power of the Rite of Frost to fight him properly. He was utterly crushed at Surtr’s invincibility, and as with the lives of kingdoms past that Surtr already tore through prior to Nifl, he wanted to kill him as well.

But being a Niflian prince, he didn’t want to do so immediately. He wanted to make Hrid suffer to the very end. He held him captive and tortured him. For what injuries he already sustained in his defeat, Surtr tried to burn him in random parts of his body and aggravate his wounds - from cutting at his face with the tip of his gauntlet's nails, to digging and cutting into his stomach or legs, among other parts - all as the eternal flame burned him. 

Yet no matter what Surtr tried to do to him, Hrid didn’t want to give him the satisfaction to hear him scream or see him cry. He focused on what little crumbs he could of that dream. He focused on that hooded figure who reassured him so many times. The more intense his burns grew, the more intensely he focused on that girl, until he suddenly recalled just a little more about her in his rising stress and his desperation to endure.

In that brief moment, he recalled his dream much more vividly. Maybe it was a sign he was dying, but if this were to be his last moments, at least he could find comfort to see a far clearer image of the hooded woman of his dreams. He still couldn’t remember her exact words to him, but he remembered that warmth in his heart she left him with all the same. And even when he couldn’t remember _her_ words, he remembered the last thing he told her instead.

“I hope that we may meet one day, no matter how remote the possibility. If I am to promise you I will do my utmost to survive, I ask that should we meet amidst the flames of battle, please… lend me your strength. I swear to you I will find you, and I swear I will do everything in my power to remember you this time. For that much, I’ll continue to live, for you, for my family, and for Nifl.”

He couldn’t die. Not here. Not like this.

As he reached his breaking point, and as his memories grew clearer of his last dream, even for a brief moment, he was aware of Surtr releasing his wrists and letting him drop. His legs, waist, wrist, and one of his arms had been badly burnt, and patches of his clothes were scorched, with some parts burning away completely, and other parts he was pretty sure burnt into his flesh from how Surtr handled him. His face was covered in cuts that burned and stung into him, one cut in particular digging from forehead to cheek, and he narrowly avoided being blind outright in that eye. He looked terrible, and he was certain that his critical state had convinced Surtr he looked dead enough to abandon him. 

But for that hooded woman, for that promise, he willed himself to still fight, and still live, no matter how dire his condition. Surtr’s back was turned to him, and he had one last chance to buy himself just a little more time to escape.

He weakly retrieved Gjöll and hid the sword in his convoy. He focused what remained of his energy onto himself. The pain was excruciating, but while he hated to break such an important vow, if it could buy him a little more time, so be it. 

He allowed his broken body to shift and change as he focused all of his energy in on himself. With a sudden burst of power that sent a shockwave of icy energy, he focused on weaponizing his own transformation to blast enough of a distance between him and Surtr while freezing him. It took very little time for the Muspellian king to burn away the frost and break through the icy state of his limbs between his might, the flames he radiated, and his invincibility, but it was just enough time, distance and force for the newly-transformed crane to flap his wings with all his might and fly away.

As he flew, he knew he was flying on borrowed time. His lower body was utterly broken in his severe burns even as he had a coat of feathers to hide them now. His wings felt painful to flap, and just as painful to keep himself airborne as the wind beneath his wings readily reminded him of the burns he sustained to his wrists moments before. He could only push himself for so long, but tried to use the pain to remind himself he was alive, and remind himself moreso the weight of what he was living for. 

He did all he could, but his vision dulled when he could ignore the pain only for so long, and his flight pattern became imbalanced. He vaguely remembered crashing through the thickets of the trees, but didn’t remember the impact or where (or what) he landed on before he fell unconscious.

He didn’t die, but his memories after that became even more of a blur. 

The first time he opened his eyes again, he forgot completely that he remained stuck in his crane form. He remembered feeling soothed and calmed as two voices spoke to him directly in gentle cooes of comfort, but alarmed yelling otherwise. When his vision cleared just enough, he saw two women looming over him and healing him. One had long, lavender hair, and was much taller compared to the other girl with him.

The other girl had reddish bangs, black hair and grey eyes.

His heart briefly stopped for a moment, and his eyes immediately widened in recognition. It was the girl from his dreams, he was sure of it. He couldn’t remember her name, but for what muffled words could reach him, he immediately recognized her voice. _It was her._

They looked worried for him. He at least heard that much. The pain of his burns became much more bearable as they were soothed and healed away, though it wasn’t an instant process, especially for the extent that he suffered. It was even more difficult for them when, although he felt his legs and wings were fully healed, they were in the process of trying to heal his chest before the two girls shouted partially in alarm, and partially as if to tell someone off.

As Hrid raised his head up, he immediately recognized that Surtr had continued to pursue him, and he practically led him straight to the girls, especially the girl of his dreams. He was even more horrified when a black-armored, incredibly pale man whose face seemed covered in some kind of black mask-like mouthpiece had a glowing, vivid blue energy emit from his mouth, and he rushed up to Surtr with little thought as he leapt after him and punched him hard enough to send him a distance backwards, but accomplished little beyond humoring his anger and bitterness. 

A fourth voice shouted at him. The voice belonged to a samurai wearing red armor, and who had long, brunette hair trailing him. The detail of such long hair stuck out to Hrid and worried him when the samurai didn’t share a second thought of grabbing the black-armored man by the waist and pulling him away just in time for him to avoid being licked by the flames Surtr briefly expelled from his body. That long hair stood out even moreso when Surtr immediately tried to grab the samurai by that same long trail of hair.

The only thing to stop him was a sudden shot that rang out. Surtr was pushed backwards from the sheer force, and to Hrid’s surprise, the fired blast was not only ice-based, but it actually struck through Surtr square in the head and left him self-igniting as his then unconscious form was burning away.

Hrid recognized the signs, and in looking to the girl of his dreams, the hooded woman had a weapon that exhaled remnants of the frosty attack, telling him she was somehow armed with the Rite of Frost. But even when it could counterbalance Surtr’s Rite of Flames enough to dispel him for now, he knew that Surtr wasn’t officially dead, and he would rise again in Muspell proper. Her party seemed just as aware likewise of that being the case.

But even when she rescued him, even when she kept her part of their promise and they lended him their strength to protect him, the crane was overwhelmed in shame. 

He was supposed to protect Nifl. He was supposed to protect his family. Instead, had that woman not been equipped with what he guessed was the legendary Breidablik, and had it not been blessed with the power of the Rite of Frost, Surtr would’ve killed them all. 

And he led him directly to them.

More, he dreaded the significance of her having the weapon of legend blessed with their kingdom’s rite. It told him enough that two lives were lost to have to have blessed it. There was little doubt otherwise, and he could guess two of his family were likely not long for this world because of it.

She didn’t need to know who he really was. He was too ashamed to reveal himself. Just as everyone was ready to retreat, he forced himself to get up and stumbled to fly away just enough to gain distance, even if it meant startling her and the taller woman with her in the process.

He was healed, but he was far from fully restored. Even when he held significantly less pain than before, there was still pain nonetheless. The burns to his chest weren’t healed properly or completely, the cuts to his face still stung him, his body ached, and Hrid heavily underestimated the toil of the fatigue of the wounds, even in the near absence of them. 

He flew, but only far enough to crash into and stumble amongst the bushes. He transformed, but he had all the grace of someone who hadn’t slept in weeks. Even so, he tried to force himself to run anyways, but no matter how strong his will was, his body couldn’t take any more and he found himself collapsing yet again.

His vision blurred once more, and he lost his sense of time. He remembered trying to crawl away, but didn’t get particularly far when his strength failed him. He saw the others had chased after him, but happened to stumble on him just as he moaned. The one time his vision cleared, it was in a brief moment his eyes met with the hooded woman again, and he saw clear signs how quickly she recognized him. 

“Please…” His voice croaked out weakly. He didn’t have any more strength to get up and flee again, so all he could do was beg her. “Please...d-don’t…” (Don’t look at me…)

What he said and what he thought blurred together. He only said just enough to seem like he was begging for his life, especially when his clothes remained charred even when his wounds were stable outside of the still-raw burns of his chest, or the glowing red slits scattered haphazardly along his face. He tried once more to beg them not to look at someone who didn’t deserve their concerns or care, but his words slurred into something incomprehensible before he fainted once more.

* * *

By the time he recovered, he was taken away from the field. He woke up in a room he didn’t personally recognize, but it soon became clear to him it was an infirmary. 

His first instinct was to sit up, but he immediately regretted it. Even when he lacked nearly all of his wounds now, his body still stung, ached and stiffened at the sudden movement after laying down for who knew how long. He still felt the pain of his wounds as if they were still raw and burned, all in spite of his health.

Looking over himself, he was spared from much of his injuries, but his attempt to flee mid-healing didn’t go without some consequence to himself. He was stripped in little else but his shorts, but it was clear his other clothes were folded just off to his side, and even more clear the evidence leading to the decision to strip him when the charred patches were as prominent as ever even when folded. 

He could see the faint scars and not-so-faint red lines over either of his wrists to remain that unfortunately displayed the difficulties of healing his wrists back when they were transformed as wings. There were even more pulsing red lines all throughout his body, each pulsing with a glow that reminded him of embers. There were still faint scars otherwise to remind him where he was burned, but it was thankfully healed heavily enough to dull his initial pain, and was especially more than he could ask for when the alternative was having Surtr’s handprints imprinted on his wrist and arms for the remainder of his life. Beyond the fiery crack-like lines, the only wound that had remained painful and still took longer to heal were the burns on his abdomen, particularly along either of his sides and at his stomach. 

He was pretty sure the way the wounds were dressed were more out of precaution to ease his lingering pain and shield the still-sensitive area, but he was in stable condition otherwise. This was his punishment he brought on himself.

Yes… not just for fleeing from his own treatment on the field, but for failing his duties as prince and protector of his kingdom. The Rite of Frost may have saved his life through Breidablik and its chosen wielder, but at what cost? Which of his family did he lose in the process between his mother or any of his sisters?

_“Hrid!”_

“Brother! You’re awake!”

“Oh heavens, Hrid, you’ve endured so much… We’ve been worried for you.”

“Oh… My poor boy…”

To his surprise, the answer was none of them.

One moment, he was alone. The next moment, he was surrounded by his family, from his mother, to all three of his sisters. Initially, he was wary for the source of the rite just enough to eye them all under heavy scrutiny. He took notice of the little things like how pale or flushed they were, to taking note of their breathing. Initially, his frantic look in his eyes and the way he clearly seemed scared mid-dotting gave his family pause, yet no matter how much Hrid studied them, he didn’t see any of the tells he learned to expect from use of the Rite of Frost. They seemed well, they didn’t carry any breathing problems, and with how little clothed he was, he felt evidence enough of their warmth from the way they treated him to how they all felt. It left him even more baffled of how the Rite of Frost could bless such an item, yet not take any sacrifices, wondering if perhaps the dragon of their country’s namesake heard their prayers and intervened in their time of need after all.

But his mind wasn’t quite distracted enough not to notice there was one other person in his room besides his family. Barely.

He saw him. Just past the shoulders of Fjorm and Gunnthra hugging him, and right behind Queen Eliva at the doorway to his room, there was the black-armored swordsman again. His eyes didn’t play tricks on him, as he was truly as ghastly pale as he thought he saw earlier, yet lacked the black mask on his face, or the blue glow he swore he saw earlier. He locked eyes with the swordsman, and Hrid took in his features, from his dark hair, to the white coloring trailing his sideburns, but especially the way his red eyes pierced into his at a glance.

And yet, it wasn’t for long. The swordsman seemed resigned, closed his eyes, and shook his head as he turned away, fully prepared to leave.

“Wait… Please, hold…!”

“Hrid?”

But the swordsman didn’t stop, and in the brief second he grew distracted amidst the confusion and alarm of his sisters, that swordsman immediately disappeared, as if he were merely an illusion in the first place. It was just in time for the queen and princesses to miss sight of him.

...No, surely not. He knew he existed. That image of him throwing caution in the wind to attack Surtr despite the circumstance still burned in his mind. He was no more of Hrid’s imagination than the samurai, that kind warrior, or… _her._

“...I-it’s nothing. My apologies, I’ve ah… I seem to be more tired than I realize…”

For now, he focused on his family. But in the back of his mind, he debated whether or not to press this, or if he had any right to. Would they truly want anything more to do with him? Especially with the way that swordsman left so abruptly, it left Hrid torn of it.

He was just glad, at least, that his failures didn’t cost the lives of his family, but it was only a small, selfish comfort to the losses he caused elsewhere. 

* * *

“You seem so troubled, Hrid.”

“... It is nothing, Sister.”

“And yet, you haven’t rested much, nor have you eaten enough…”

“Ah…? Oh… My apologies, Gunnthra…”

“There’s no need, Hrid, but… Surely you can see why I worry, yes? As would our sisters and mother? Please, if there is more than I could do for you, you need only ask…”

“...I…”

Hrid sighed. Yes, he knew. His sisters were always so warm and inviting as they were, but especially the eldest of his sisters, Gunnthra, who never failed to dote on her siblings. He _wanted_ to say that he knew and just leave it at that. It was on the tip of his tongue, and yet, he couldn’t get such words out when it mattered.

Maybe because he knew he had far too many thoughts weighing on his mind, and knew deep down they were too important to dismiss so readily.

"...There's something I must confess… I haven't told Mother yet, and I fear it would worry her needlessly in addition to the weight of the crown otherwise."

"And you prefer it is kept that way, if only for now?"

"I-Indeed… I… they saw my other form… I transformed in an effort to flee from Surtr, and in the process, I've broken my vow and exposed myself to them…"

"Hrid…"

"Even as I tried to escape yet again to transform back, I fear that I've only made the connection stronger between either of my forms to them…"

"Hrid… It was either our secret, or your life. Nobody would fault you for such, and we would rather not have lost your life for our secret's sake…"

"But it's worse…" And it was what added salt to the already painful wound of leaking such a secret. "One of the people who saw me was the hooded figure in our dreams…"

"She would not judge you. I am certain of it, Hrid."

"How can she not…?"

Maybe there was more to it than what Askr's summoner thought of a prince who could become a crane. Regardless of what she truly thought, the damage had long since been done well before Hrid knew of her. Memories plagued him of how much scorn and ridicule he endured, be it in the form of a boy, or the form of a chick otherwise. 

The first time he became aware of the cruelties of what humans held for cranes was when he was still too small and young to fight back properly, and well before it crossed his mind he would ever need to. Kids tormented him, surrounded him, and tore away the feathers to his wings in their misguided attempt to make the treasured cloth that cranes were known to weave. He still remembered how much Gunnthra cried and Eliva worried he would lose his ability to fly.

His first experience of being struck with a weapon came just as he proved Eliva's worries wrong. He took flight, and he was shot out of the sky by an archer in doing so. He would've nearly either killed himself upon impact with the ground below, or his hunter would've captured and slaughtered him otherwise, had it not been Gunnthra using her magic to soften his fall and overwhelm the hunter with a blizzard long enough to take him home.

Combined with his reminders of how different he was from his sisters as it were, his confidence in Gunnthra's words were gone well before she uttered them.

"I don't even remember her name…" He couldn't bring himself to even humor Gunnthra's words for the sake of it. "I could see it in her eyes that she remembered me, but… For what I remembered of her, it was very brief, and it was as I thought I would die by Surtr's hands… If I cannot even recall anything of her, she would surely want very little to do with me, if she knew…"

Did he even warn her before of how he kept forgetting her in her dreams? Even the memory he recalled while he was captured was once again fuzzy to him. In Hrid's mind, he was resolved to the bitter fact it was best he and the hooded girl kept their distance. He rationalized it between his splintered memories, to how quickly the swordsman in her party abandoned him without a word, that this was for the best.

And yet, Gunnthra could see the look on Hrid's face and his crestfallen demeanor that he wanted more than anything to change this. Even when he felt too strongly he screwed it up beyond repair, he clearly wished for a second chance. Even if he didn't remember it consciously, he had a look to him that convinced Gunnthra he knew there was something too deep to this to let this be.

She pulled Hrid into a hug. At first, he tried to pull away in his hesitance, but between Gunnthra's persistence, and Hrid's weakened state physically and mentally, he gave up and gave in to her pull.

"Her name is Erin."

"Hm…?"

She pulled away mid-hug. She had a look as gentle as the tone of her voice.

"The hooded one in our dreams. She is Askr's summoner, Erin. She may be quite shy and withdrawn in some ways to approach, but I'm certain she is understanding and kind enough to give you more of a chance than you think, Hrid."

"But… Sister…"

"And Fjorm and Mother were the first to encounter them. Fjorm spoke highly of the Order of Heroes, and of Erin's group. It seems her group especially are all able to transform into dragons, including her."

"Is that so…" Did Erin tell him such in their dreams as well? He was grateful for Gunnthra's insights, but flustered of their different skills in their powers over their dreams even before the rite, let alone afterwards.

"As much as we had thought it best to discuss further details when you were stronger and well, would it ease your heart if I shared with you those details now after all, Hrid?"

He hesitated. It was true. Although he woke up just in time to confirm his family were truly safe and accounted for, they saw the signs he was too exhausted and pained to fully take in their words as well as he normally could've, and so they dropped the subject at the time. All he knew was Eliva went to speak to and plan together with the king and queen of Askr, and Fjorm was assisting the Order of Heroes. 

But now he was well enough to sit up and stay focused. And he could see it in the look in Gunnthra's eyes that it was for the best to hear her out after all.

He nodded. The hesitance faded almost as fast as it came.

So he tried to force himself to relax, and as the two siblings separated and settled, Gunnthra not only shared what happened to him that brought the entire Nifl royal family together, but also of the Order of Heroes, and what she knew in person, in dreams, or otherwise.

Erin was close with a samurai named Ryoma, the swordsman he noticed earlier was named Lif, and a noblewoman whom helped Erin treat his wounds was Camilla. They were the party to collectively come to his rescue earlier, and they were among others who rescued the rest of the family, particularly Commander Anna, Prince Alfonse, and Princess Sharena.

Fjorm and Eliva were rescued first while they were fleeing together. It was described as a united effort between Ryoma flying with Sharena on his kinshi to find them, to Ryoma ordering his retainers to take them back to Askr for their safety when the rest of the party were warding off Surtr from a farmland. Even so, they unanimously vouched for Sharena's efforts to save Fjorm and Eliva in particular, especially after seeing the way she fussed over Fjorm afterwards. And so, Fjorm swore to repay her debts with her.

Then Ylgr was rescued. It was primarily with the aid from a man who hid his face behind a mask, and who struck down his enemies with magic. He rescued not only her, but a young girl with vivid orange hair, whom Ylgr was certain was named Menja. He insisted not to give his name to her, yet it was clear enough to Fjorm he seemed close to Alfonse and just as trusted by Lif. Ylgr was one who hardly took Niflian customs seriously enough to pledge any debt, but the masked man was as steadfast against Fjorm’s or Eliva’s attempts to reward him as he was to admit his name to any of them. If nothing else, the only request he had was to keep an eye on her and not allow her to wander near Muspell again, at least until this situation with Surtr was over. To the relief of all the siblings, and including Hrid right then, Ylgr didn’t blink twice at such an order.

And then there was Gunnthra herself. 

She shared her experiences with Hrid of what led to her rescue. Even before she had the idea to tell Erin where to find her and what to do when they reach there, Erin’s party found her rendevous point. Initially, she thought it was a matter of good luck on their side, until she noticed Erin seemed far more stressed upon meeting her in person compared to in dreams, and they further found out they had narrowly beaten Surtr to the fortress she tried hiding in, with Loki's assistance to shift his position so rapidly from such a far distance. From what she pried from Erin, or could tell from the body languages of her party otherwise, it was Lif who guided them the most, and it left her impressed and grateful of his intuition. In many ways, Hrid saw similarities in what led to his own rescue, especially as he described it to Gunnthra and both drew comparisons.

But then she focused more on Erin. Gunnthra shared what she could to Hrid from what she knew through her dreams. Everything from what words the summoner shared, to describing the way Erin carried herself, whatever intimacies shared within such a dream connection was laid bare for Hrid, just enough to paint him a decently vivid painting that made him feel just a little closer to retrieving the memories he left behind in the world of dreams.

“Between Fjorm and I, we can arrange a meeting with you and Erin.” With her helping Hrid catch up on current events for as well as she could muster, and as much as he could follow along, she shifted her focus. "The two of you can meet on far better terms this time, if that would ease your heart."

"It would, but…" He hesitated, and then thought against protesting after all. He tried to be more appreciative, as guilty as he was to ask for help on something like this. "Mn… No. Nevermind… Thank you, Sister. I will not let you and Fjorm's efforts go in vain."

Even in spite of Hrid's efforts, Gunnthra saw his hesitance, and she knew right away of the reason. Still, as Hrid seemed much more relax from the time the siblings parted, up to the point she left, she didn't call him out on it and simply gave him space while making good of her offer.

A part of her felt selfish. A part of her felt almost saddened of losing that small bit of personal intimacy, had she kept all of her interactions with Erin in her dreams private. But to see her brother smile even just a little more, it was worth such a loss.

* * *

"Caaaam… It was just a tiny scratch! That's all!"

"It seems you and I have _very_ different definitions of 'tiny'. It was as long as half your arm!"

"And it was already healed! Doubly so with your help too! Enough sweating over it!"

Erin sighed with a huff and turned heel. Despite appreciating the concerns and fussing, she also couldn’t tell how much Camilla was just teasing her, and how much was her genuinely making a big fuss over something Erin considered thoroughly dealt with.

Besides, there were better things to worry about. 

A moment ago, Gunnthra managed to find her and corner her. At first, Erin thought it was about Hrid’s condition, moreso when this was indeed in regards to Hrid when Gunnthra had a favor to ask regarding him.

She didn’t expect that Hrid wanted to see her again. And not just a passing glance or a small chat’s worth, but it was difficult not to take Gunnthra’s words to mean he wanted a date outright. She reminded herself how much Hrid promised he would make an effort to remember her the last time he invaded her dreams, but was still impressed at the implication he actually managed to do it. At the time, Camilla was with her, and while the two initially exchanged uncertain glances, they both became much more understanding to Gunnthra’s request when she seemed to frame it more in a context of trusting their skills to monitor his health more personally, especially as he had seemingly trusted Erin and the others more than the healers primarily tasked at the infirmary. When that alone didn’t fully win Erin over, Gunnthra pointed out Hrid’s wounds he specifically earned from the eternal flame radiating off Surtr. Regardless of Hrid’s personal comforts, Camilla agreed those wounds specifically were wounds only Erin could’ve fully rid him of. To that, Erin had to agree to that much of a point, much as she was still apprehensive of the plan as a whole.

Erin hesitated even still, but when Gunnthra explained a Niflian’s traditions of gratitude and life debts, combined with Camilla reminding her of Fjorm declaring a similar debt to Sharena, she conceded to the idea as Camilla had. They agreed to make arrangements to free up hands and space in the infirmary to take a more private patient into their dormitory. The two relayed the news to Lif and Ryoma, and with their full support and help, a room was cleared out and prepared for him.

Now was a matter of meeting him and Gunnthra when _they_ were ready to move. At the time, Erin was already on her way out, with Camilla following a short distance behind her.

"Haa, what ever shall I do with you, Erin…"

"Not worry as much, for starters! Besides, you can save your energy for… _other_ things…"

"Oh…? Like what?"

"D-don't pretend you don't know! I'm not falling for that look!"

"Fufufu, what ever do you mean?"

"I _mean-_ "

They both expected to face Hrid again eventually. 

What they _didn't_ expect was for him and his sister to already be right at their doorstep. Fortunately, Erin had the reflexes to stop on a dime, and so just as she turned and saw something more than an open hall, she froze in place. Had her reflexes been any slower, she would've crashed face first into Hrid's too-welcoming breasts.

And they were indeed welcoming, by virtue that he dressed in such a rushed and sloppy manner that showed more of a generous glimpse of his breasts than Erin was all that prepared for right then and there. Gunnthra was with him, and when Erin hastily tried to look anywhere but directly at his chest, she and Camilla could both see how much Hrid was relying on Gunnthra for support just to stand at all, how pale and exhausted he looked, and how he seemed to be making an effort to at least minimalize how often he would wince from the clear pain and discomfort he still felt. And yet, the glowing, burning lines etched along his face and glimpses of his body hidden under his clothes had still remained, and they mercilessly continued to hurt him and out his condition for all to see.

Even if he was spared from being in critical condition, thanks to the effort that brought him up to this point, it was clear Gunnthra had a point that Hrid would still need so much work yet. 

“Ah, sorry-” “Ah, my apologies, I-” Right away, Erin and Hrid tried to apologize at the same time, but both of them had just as quickly realized they were talking over one another.

“Oh, you go first-” “Ah, that is, my apologies for-” But even their attempt to point this out only repeated the exact same gesture, to their embarrassment, frustrations, and in a milder sense, amusement. 

“...Heheh…” “Aha… Ahaha…”

“Heehee~ I see you two will get along quite nicely together. My brother is truly in good hands.” 

“Gunnthra…”

Despite their earlier mishap, the point was made. He was here, the room was prepared and ready for him, and when Erin and Hrid themselves were at a loss of words, Camilla and Gunnthra took charge instead in gently guiding Hrid to the room and discussing his care. 

The focus was initially on just that. Camilla showed off the room, explained her skills as a healer as well as speaking for Erin’s on her behalf, and as Ryoma and Lif were either on their way to their living room or made enough noise giving away they were close by otherwise, they all had a glimpse of Camilla’s more diplomatic side in how she spoke to Gunnthra or showed things off otherwise. As flustered as Erin herself was, she made no attempt to protest this or insert herself into this no matter how many times Camilla answered on behalf of her and her skills over healing or power over blessings, nor how many other times she caught Gunnthra and/or Hrid looking her way. She was more than happy letting Camilla handle things, and focused more on taking supplies out of her convoy to leave it accessible in the infirmary proper. 

“Summoner Erin. May I have a moment with you?”

Hrid watched her for a while. He _tried_ to focus on Camilla’s and Gunnthra’s conversation, but his ability to keep that focus wasn’t entirely all there. Instead, he bided his time, and picked his moment to approach her. After expecting Camilla to handle everything, it initially caught Erin off guard for Hrid to focus on her instead anyways, and moreso to move closer.

“You uh… You don’t need to be _that_ formal, but sure. What’s up?” As she put down the last bottle of vulnerary she was willing to spare far in the back of the drawer with the others, she gave her full attention to him.

His heart was pounding in seeing her. She was neither too thrilled, nor too annoyed, and it left him even more strict with himself not to ruin this moment for the second time.

“Y-yes, if that is what you wish… *ahem* My apologies, Sum-...Erin…”

She snorted. He didn’t initially know if that was him messing up more, or otherwise, but he was immediately put at ease when she shook her head mid-smile.

“Don’t worry about it. So, what is it you want?”

He still hesitated. Even with Camilla, he found himself tongue-tied, but with Erin, that feeling hadn’t grown any easier to deal with either. He was even more frustrated when he reminded himself he was a prince. Someone of his stature was a representative of his country, and there would be no sympathy nor patience for a prince who couldn’t speak for himself.

“I’m afraid that I hadn’t been quite as courteous as I owed to you. For that, I deeply apologize for my conduct earlier.”

He expected Erin to glower at him, and meekly accepted the look. He deserved it, after all, and understood her misgivings with him for how poorly he treated her and her party.

“...You were set on fire. _And_ you were beaten within an inch of your life. Even now, you're still a mess.”

He didn’t expect her words, however. She huffed and shook her head in disbelief at him. It gave him pause.

“...Y...yes?”

“I think you can be forgiven for not being so formal when you were barely clinging to life…” Once more, she shook her head dismissively. As much as she was frustrated about what Hrid was so worried about, her tone and words were gentle and comforting, despite where her thoughts drifted. “Relax, will you? Or is there more on your mind?”

“Ah, well… It _does_ indeed bring me to my next point. I’m sure my sister had explained it before, but…”

Erin rose an eyebrow. Initially, she wasn’t sure where he was going with this, especially for him to then feel the need to kneel.

Or at least, he _would’ve_ tried to kneel, were it not for the obvious signs of him wincing in pain and barely managing to hide it. When he let out a pained gasp he couldn’t hold in, Erin didn’t even let him fully kneel before quickly and firmly grabbing him by the shoulder to stop him in place, _now_ starting to realize what he tried to do.

“Don’t.” She helped Hrid straighten himself back up once more, ignoring the way Hrid seemed guilt-ridden. “Not worth your health.”

“Y-you are too kind to me… More than I feel I deserve, in fact…” 

“Yeah, well, you’re a patient.” As Hrid proved he wasn’t about to hurt himself again to get down on one knee, Erin released him, but still seemed flustered. “Until you’re fully recovered, relax, and don’t overthink it. My _boyfriends and girlfriend_ wouldn’t be thrilled if you break yourself more either.”

He blinked in confusion. It didn’t go past his notice how she stressed the fact she was already in a relationship, but it initially went over his head of why. Even when he hadn’t tried to kneel a second time, he had a guess for it, and was even more determined in light of the reminder.

“Understood, but… Forgive me, it is important all the same. It is as you say: it is not just to you, but to all of you, in fact.”

It gave Erin pause, but she let him have his chance. He cleared his throat without her intervening or interrupting. Just over his shoulder, she could see signs both subtle and otherwise that Lif, Ryoma and Camilla were listening in, as had Gunnthra. Not that it mattered, because Hrid offered his hand to Erin, who, in remaining unsure where he was going with this _now,_ took it, and he led her out with him right where everyone could see. If anything, it seemingly encouraged Hrid once Lif and Ryoma made themselves known, and remembering Camilla was already out.

She had to admit that Hrid had his charms, and it was similar to the kind of charm Gunnthra had. He was certainly as genuine of a person in their dreams as he was to meet him directly, but she still had her reservations of both of their intentions that was not as easy for her to dismiss, no matter how unfounded it was by now. 

At first, she felt a similar level of discomfort from how he ignored his warning, prepared to think the worst of him even for a moment, and thinking he would try, not just to ignore her subtle hints, but be bold enough to rub it in the faces of her lovers while doing it. Her world was unkind that way, and it still left her jaded at times, deep down.

“You’ve all done so much for the kingdom of Nifl, and for our family especially. Truly, it is a debt we owe to all of you that may never be repaid… But as prince, I vow to still try to make an attempt, no matter how long it may take me to repay it.”

“Hrid…” With the reminder that he was about to say this while kneeling down on one knee, her tone was weak, but less than impressed of him. However, she hesitated in letting him continue, especially as Ryoma gave her a look to let him speak first.

“I was a fool, I do realize this, yes… The debt I owe is one I realize should be owed, not just to you, but to the four of you, equally.”

Fortunately, Ryoma was right to hold Erin back for the moment, and with such words, a great deal of her resentments eased instantly. 

“My sister Gunnthra… She told me much of what you all did for my family. I will not debate Fjorm’s feelings, nor her debt, but even as my body may currently be broken and burned by the eternal flame, for as long as I live and breathe, I pledge my entire being to you all… My strength, my body, my skills… Everything of me is yours to do what you will of it...”

Hrid heeded Erin’s warning the first time. As much as he wanted to kneel while proclaiming this, much as Fjorm had done to Sharena well before, he opted to bow and hang his head low as he pledged himself to the four, with Gunnthra as his witness. As much as Gunnthra had been patient, and she reacted like all of this was not only typical, but expected, Hrid was more timid of whether or not they would take him for what he was, and was oblivious to the way they all seemed to have mixed reactions of the proclamation at all. Where Lif seemed genuinely the least surprised, Ryoma’s neutral stare was forced, Camilla seemed the most amused, and Erin’s jaw dropped.

His heart was pounding harder, He wasn’t sure what to expect, least of all from Erin. A painful thought in the back of his mind wondered if they would rather have Gunnthra to pledge such an oath to fulfil this debt, rather than him. As he glanced Gunnthra’s way, even for a brief moment, Gunnthra was nothing short of encouraging of him in the way she smiled his way. 

“My, you have… quite the way with words, it seems…” Camilla was the first to break the silence, but didn’t make it any easier to tell whether or not Hrid’s proposal was well received or not. It didn’t help Erin seemed flushed in the face for some reason, almost feeling as if Hrid was making a proposal of a far different sort, and being even more frustrated when this was nigh identical to a similar proposal Gunnthra made to her in dreams...Except in that, Gunnthra left very little room for doubt (or protest) compared to Hrid.

No matter what kind of look Erin gave him, Lif remained silent. In fact, he seemed firm on his decision not to get involved or give any input in this. When Erin also was at a loss of what to say, Ryoma stepped forward to speak on their behalf alongside Camilla. He didn’t call him out, but in watching Hrid long enough, he could see just enough hints of how distressed Hrid was, in spite of his efforts to hide it, even if he wasn’t sure of the cause for it.

“You are certain this is what you want? You are fully aware of the weight of such words? Though it may be Niflian tradition, we would gladly relieve you of the weight of such obligations if it will ease you.”

It was Ryoma’s way of trying to set Hrid free. As Sharena found her own way to carefully navigate Fjorm’s own oath, Ryoma had his own idea of how to give Hrid an out to his oath likewise. None of his lovers were inclined to argue his point, though he noticed Camilla and Erin look between him and Hrid while Lif focused more between the siblings instead.

"They _were_ rather bold words, dear… If they were said to the wrong kind of people, you would be opening yourself up to quite a bit of risk… And yet, you hardly know any of us well enough and still say such bold things… Surely a prince would know to be more cautious?”

“I know. I understand the risks. I know that in any other case, speaking so freely as I have would be dangerously foolish.” And yet, he spoke without any doubt, any fear, or any second thought, doing little to convince Ryoma or Camilla he truly heeded such words of warning at first. “But… Even if we know little of one another yet, I _do_ know of all of your deeds to Nifl, and to my family… I have not easily forgotten what you’ve all done for me as well. For that, I have no doubts. I insist.”

But even as Hrid doubled down on his words, what also worsened were his thoughts they must’ve had for him. Did they doubt his sincerity because he already did something wrong? Or were their doubts truly as he feared? That they didn’t see his worth, and weren’t impressed of what he had to give? Was _that_ why there was some hesitance to try to let him down gently of his oath?

Hrid made himself clear. He refused to change his mind or go back on his word. Upon seeing that arguing with him further was not only futile, but seemed to stress him out more, Ryoma and Camilla shared a passing glance between Erin and Lif, and then each other. Once more, none of them protested.

“Very well then. If you’re still certain, we’ll honor your oath. But for now, we’ll handle your recovery and care. On our honor as king, queen, prince and summoner, we will protect you and help tend to your wounds.”

Despite his earlier concerns, Hrid was stunned when Ryoma followed through after all. It was a confusing feeling, but despite his mild yet brewing fears of rejection, he was still equally surprised they would take him after all. There was a look in his eyes that eased Ryoma and the others that they were making the right decision, but it was also a look none of them was sure how to describe beyond joy and relief.

Except Erin. She saw that look on his face once before. It was saddened last time, but it was the same look in Hrid’s eyes when he proclaimed to her in their dreams he would make a stronger effort to remember her. A part of her wondered if he truly did after all.

Regardless, it was set, and Gunnthra was relieved, and even happy for her brother… Except in the last few times she glanced between Hrid and them, Erin couldn’t help but notice some tinge of sadness hidden under her typical warm, welcoming smile and happiness.

Erin didn’t need to know the truth. If it would not only bring Hrid joy, but help him recover from the state Surtr left him in, she didn’t give it a second thought to let Hrid take Erin. What made her even more certain Hrid might hold a better chance together with her was the way he seemed equally hopeful and charmed by Erin’s other lovers as he was of Erin herself. 

He had the same immediate charm and hope as she had when she and Erin met for the first time in their dreams. But with Hrid, maybe he could do more where Gunnthra couldn’t. At the very least, she could give him that chance to try.

* * *

The easy part was helping him to settle in. The difficult part was to actually treat him. 

He vaguely understood of the existence and properties of blessings. They were concentrated energies of specific elements, manifesting in such ways to take certain forms, usually in the form of birds. The water and fire blessings were especially common sights when Nifl’s war with Muspell intensified between their respective, elemental-imbued weapons. He was vaguely aware that heroes who were blessed with them would be given a power that, while not quite so pronounced, would strengthen and wane through the seasons but assist them with the power of that element.

The way Breidablik utilized such blessings went beyond this, especially with how it translated through Erin. He vaguely recalled brief sightings of Erin weaponizing such elements well past the usual potency of a hero blessed with them, but he had a more intimate glimpse of Erin taking that power and using it in other ways.

At the time, Lif was cooking, but every so often he would glance their way, and Hrid can feel the pierce of his stare every time he did so. Ryoma may have left, but it wouldn’t be for long, and Erin was treating him directly while Camilla supervised as backup just in case.

His face was an utter mess. Even underneath such a gruesome sight, Hrid still felt touched that Erin could recognize him even then. He saw his reflection well before in the Order of Heroes infirmary, but despite how grim he felt of being an even bigger mess of a prince before, the glowing, burning marks all over his body did even fewer favors for him. 

He could feel the contrast between the soothing chill from the power Erin held while water-blessed, yet the warmth of her hand as she traced over and gently rubbed along the scars. They were burning, pulsing with constant pain, and stung him with the same intense reminders of Surtr’s attacks against him. What he thought would be a pain he would have to endure for the rest of his life was gently eased, and then completely gone, one scar at a time. She was careful and meticulous per line. She was relieved the scars and physical damage of the burns themselves were otherwise gone, but it were these unusual scars born from the eternal flame that left the other healers baffled and distressed when their skills proved ineffective.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when Camilla stopped Erin, his entire face was completely healed. It was like the scars there never existed. It was one step toward ridding himself of this constant pain completely, but even in the meantime, these four were highly accommodating to him. Moreso than he felt he deserved…

He noticed the little things and the big things of all of their quirks. Camilla was the most fussy. Lif was the most inclined to smaller and subtler gestures than with words, and when there were exceptions, it led to him going on tangents as he mused over mythology, history, or details he heard about other worlds, which not only did Erin encourage, but Hrid couldn’t help but have his attention completely caught up in Lif’s musings likewise. 

As for Ryoma, there were many things about him that caught his attention similarly, but some of the things that left Hrid charmed worked off the things he found charming of the other three.

When he returned, the difference in Ryoma’s demeanor once in a semi-private place was like night and day. Out there, and as far as Hrid knew him before, he was a serious, no-nonsense king who carried himself calmly and wisely as he himself knew what was expected of a prince, nevermind a king. Yet the moment the door closed, his demeanor relaxed, he was far more casual and shameless of meeting his lovers between hugs or kisses, and completely broke such a stoic mask reserved for the outside in favor of a warm smile and a hearty laugh mid-dotting to ensure all of his lovers were well and accounted for. At first, Hrid thought Ryoma must have forgotten he was there, and he felt as if he was witnessing something private he had no business paying as much attention to as he had.

But… he couldn’t help it. Even if Ryoma hadn’t exactly towered over Camilla or Lif the way he had, none of them seemed bothered of it. In fact, the others seemed to cherish him more for it , from the way Erin laughed when Ryoma lifted her off her feet in a hug, to the ways Camilla and Lif checked over his body, no matter how bulky or thickly muscled he was.

Everything he saw through Ryoma and how treasured he was by his lovers were the complete opposite reaction of what Hrid grew accustomed to about his own similarities. But it wasn’t jealousy Hrid felt for Ryoma’s treatment, but almost a sense of awe. It was a moment he realized his treatment was unjust, and in a lense he didn’t have bias to cast doubt on like the comfort and words of his family.

“Ah, and how are you, Prince Hrid? You already look quite better, but how do you feel?”

And yet, whether or not he could bring himself to be jealous, he was surprised all the same when Ryoma extended the same sense of warmth to him, and made no effort to hide his more relaxed side even as he made it clear he caught Hrid watching. Unprepared, the prince cleared his throat.

“Y-yes! I-*ahem* I already feel quite better, thank you.”

“Good, good.”

They were all so warm. They were so inviting to him in their kindness, like the morning sun gently basking over the remains of that night’s bitter chill. Was this just basic hospitality? Even if that was all it was, a selfish part of him was willing to endure the constant burning pain if he could have this kindness just a little longer. It didn’t matter if his hands were trembling in ways he couldn’t correct even for just the simple act of eating. It didn’t matter how uncertain, unstable or slow his steps were as he walked. It didn’t even matter how little he could contribute overall in his stay with them, especially when he overheard enough hints here and there that they were still pursuing Surtr and trying to liberate Muspell. 

It didn’t even cross his mind as to why Erin was slow to fully treat him, or why Camilla forced her to go at it in spaced out steps. The fact they would help him at all meant enough for him, but he felt heavier guilt that they would continue even still to handle what should’ve been his own burden to bear. And yet, Hrid knew he stood even less of a chance to be helpful now than his already grim chance in his prime. He was in no position to protest no matter what the reasoning was.

It wasn’t until just after Erin took in more to treat both of his legs without pause that this changed. She left him with just his stomach left, but unlike the other times when Camilla would intervene and force her to stop, he already saw her turn pale, unfocused, and almost immediately exhausted. Without thinking, he reached over to check her and feel her forehead before it occurred to him how forward such would’ve been, and yet, Erin let him touch her long enough for him to feel how much her temperature spiked before she pulled away with reassurances she was fine.

Right afterwards, he could hear from the room next door that Lif, Camilla and Ryoma all called her name out of worry, and then proceeded to scold her not long after. From what little bits and pieces Hrid could hear, he realized she had collapsed in her room, frightened them with her health, and then had more than enough hints to realize the cost of Hrid’s specific method of treatment.

Normally, healers would’ve healed with staves that would offset the pain and wounds of their patient. Though healers were capable of healing patients directly even without staves, if they do, there was a terrible risk to the healer of taking in the pain, if not the wounds, of their patient they were treating. 

Unfortunately, given the nature of Erin’s powers with the elemental blessings, Hrid realized, to his horror, that Erin had never used a stave on him. The only one to do so was Camilla, and it was more to numb his lingering pain for a time, rather than cure his condition directly. 

And even after being scolded and tended to by her lovers, and even as she resurfaced, Erin didn’t even hint to what Hrid was doing to her when she tried to resume Hrid’s treatment.

He couldn’t, in good conscious, let her. Especially when he heard a moment prior that she fully expected to go out once more to pursue Surtr at news Laegjarn and Laevateinn were sighted once again.

“Please. It can wait. I will manage until your return.” Even if he braced himself for Erin to be upset with him to eavesdrop on her and her lovers’ business, he couldn’t forgive himself if he learned Surtr killed her from the loss of strength trying to heal him. “Just… please, promise all of you will return safely. I have faith you have a definite plan against Surtr and the Rite of Flames, but… I do not wish to hinder you. Save all of your strength for your journey.”

She was at a loss for words initially. There were hints of guilt in the way she looked to him. Understandably so, but Hrid was set on his words. To his relief, she didn’t seem upset of him overhearing what was going on, and seemed more guilt-ridden instead. 

It was funny to him how the shift in perspective left him wanting nothing more than to encourage these people, all with the cares and concerns he couldn’t give to himself.

He watched them prepare. When it was certain that Hrid meant what he said and insisted not to treat the remains of his burning scars yet, he was touched in the ways they all tried to double-check he would have enough vulneraries and elixers to numb his pain until they returned, and outright pooled their resources together to ensure it without a second thought. 

In the night before they would’ve left to Muspell again, Lif was trying to brief them once more of what he knew and expected from his own experience. It impressed Hrid how much he seemed to know, even if he held his tongue to question it in his uncertainties of Lif’s background. 

Hrid couldn’t sit back idly. It left him anxious enough that he couldn’t join them in the frontlines, so when he realized they were all discussing battle plans and had maps made mostly from Lif’s memories and guesses between the three, Hrid tried to intervene to either confirm what he remembered in his own experience, or for what he saw in person on his way to attack Surtr himself.

He was impulsive. He was careless. When he realized amidst their widened eyes and long stares that he injected himself suddenly and abruptly to what was a private meeting, he realized too late of his mistake and turned meek, wondering if perhaps he had misstepped.

“Hrid… Your help is greatly appreciated, thank you. But are you certain you have the strength and energy to discuss this with us?”

So it surprised him when not only did they prove otherwise, but it was Lif who broke the silence first, the one who was the least talkative with him usually. 

“I want to do anything I can to lend you all my aid.” He didn’t even need to think twice of it. 

He shared as much as he knew. It helped build Lif’s confidence from previously relying on memories he reserved doubts and fears in the back of his mind of potentially screwing up with. Especially when he remembered, to his frustrations, the hurdles from where his memories drifted from what happened this time, from the points he was ambushed, to the points Loki purposefully tried to throw them off last time. For what Hrid helped jog his memories for, and combined with where he knew to avoid and what to reason through, their plans were air tight by night’s end.

“Ah, Prince-”

“Just Lif is fine.”

“Lif, I see, very well… I apologize if I am overstepping, but are you alright?”

“Hm?”

“Ah, well… It’s just that your complexion is rather-”

“Normal.”

“...Truly?”

After the meeting, Hrid tried to get just a little closer to Lif. It wasn’t that he pushed him away, but something about him left Hrid as equally curious as he was concerned of him. This was the one who knew when and how to save his siblings and mother. Everyone was a united force to help him, between this group and the Order of Heroes proper, but it still left him mystified how Lif seemed to share experiences not unlike his own in how he spoke about Muspell and its landmarks, or spoke freely of what he seemed highly confident to expect, rather than treat it as mere guess work. 

But, much like the truth Hrid heard of Erin’s sacrifices, Lif’s sickly pale looks were harder to ignore, especially when Hrid worried the cause was the stress built up from Lif’s constant worries over Nifl. He may not have understood _why_ Lif would care so much of Nifl, but rather than question it, he was grateful for Lif’s selflessness, even as he worried of the clear cost.

“Please, if I may, Lif… Words cannot describe enough the level of gratitude I have for you and the others. But to have it come at the cost of your health-”

“It isn’t that.”

And if it wasn’t the painfully obvious signs of how unwell Lif was, it was how quick and blunt he was to dismiss it. Then again, as much as Hrid hated it, he wondered why none of the others seemed to react to Lif’s pale, sickly looks.

But Lif, as frustrated as he was of the subject, realized he couldn’t keep dismissing it without Hrid worrying or giving the wrong impression otherwise. He sighed, and while he initially wanted to check his supplies one last time, he paused in shifting his full attention to Hrid, figuring he could pick up where he left off on his preparations after and elsewhere.

“This is not your doing. Nor is it anything of Nifl’s, or Muspell’s, or any of the sort.”

“Then… why…? Is there truly nothing that can be done of it…? Is it truly as normal as you say…?”

“My current looks will remain with me for the rest of my life. It is not a sign I am sick, but a reminder of what I must atone for.” He said it so simply, so bluntly, and yet, compared to his tone in the past, there was a sad resignation as he explained it to Hrid. “You have not seen the full extent of which I was changed by my past. My appearance now is only a small portion of it.”

“Atone…?”

Lif hesitated. Would it matter or change anything to explain? Did he really care to elaborate with Hrid? Or would it have been far better had he remained ignorant like the rest?

“...I see.” At Lif’s hesitance, however, Hrid thought against pressing it after all. “If there is anything that I could do to assist you, please, do not hesitate to ask. Regardless if you are comfortable sharing the details, for what you’ve already done, I have faith you will accomplish what you must for your full atonement.”

Lif barely held back huffing in his disbelief to barely pass it off as a sigh. Doubtful. Highly doubtful. For the magnitude of his crimes, it was a miracle he could repay it even with this current life as it is.

But… Lif hesitated to dismiss him completely. Hrid seemed so earnest and hopeful for him. The look may have been born from pure ignorance, but for one who knew nothing of his circumstance, Hrid seemed to have such certainty in the hopeful look he gave to him. It made him hesitate to break the Niflian prince’s expectations of him just for the sake of being right. At least, not right then.

Was _this_ the infamous look Erin saw? The same one Erin would vary between rambling or ranting over in what plagued her dreams from time to time? Seeing it for himself, he could see now why she felt as she had about it. 

"...Thank you."

He would probably know the truth eventually, but for now, Lif was content to let it be. Likewise, Hrid remained hopeful to watch Lif walk away in somewhat better spirits.

Hrid tried to focus elsewhere. He left Lif alone after that, and he could see Camilla was preparing similarly between her stave and weapons she seemed to be double-checking or otherwise deciding between. The only ones who seemed secure enough with their preparations to a point of relaxing were Ryoma and Erin, but as kind and welcoming as they all were, Hrid hesitated to insert himself in their talk, especially when the two were so preoccupied, they didn't even notice him sneaking behind them on his way to his room.

"Pfffth, hell no, I couldn't afford even a shot of this, let alone the whole bottle."

"Mn…?"

"I couldn't even afford a meal on a budget like that. It's such a shoestring budget even buying the shoestrings themselves feels like a fuggin luxury."

" _That_ dire…? Erin..."

But it didn't stop him from overhearing the two, even if only briefly. He retreated in his room, but was slower in doing so. He stalled just long enough to hear Ryoma tell Erin a gentle "I'm so sorry…", and enough rustling to guess he pulled Erin closer beside him. As Hrid slid his door to his room shut for the night, he just barely missed Erin reassuring Ryoma it was all in the past now.

By morning, they were all gone. Hrid didn't know if they left him behind by circumstance of Surtr forcing everyone's hands, if they stayed out later than they planned or hoped, or if they trusted Hrid otherwise, but he was determined not to break their trust in him and guard the dormitory as he remained inside.

The only one he trusted otherwise was Gunnthra. He had guessed Erin briefed her of what went on, be it in dreams or otherwise, especially when she arrived not long after he confirmed he was the only one left in the dormitory. He proved to her he had recovered considerably since his stay with them, the immediate tell being how clear his face was once more. But once he assured his sister of the progress he made in recovering and healing, he shifted his focus toward his next plan.

With Gunnthra, he laid his intentions bare. He wanted to make their treasured cloth, and he needed a weaving loom to get started. Gunnthra didn't press the subject any further to learn that Hrid's intentions weren't solely on repaying for his care, nor held as distinct a reflection over his relationships to them as she thought. Hrid, likewise, made no attempts to correct her, least of all enough so to bring up Erin's supposed money troubles.

In short order, he had a weaving loom in his room. Eliva was still with Queen Henriette and King Gustav, Ylgr was well guarded and kept preoccupied with other heroes, last either siblings heard, Fjorm still remained by Sharena's side, and once Hrid was settled, Gunnthra gave him space as she left his side to find other ways to help. 

Traditionally, the crane down cloth was a fabric made from the naturally shedded down of a crane. It was a slow, drawn out commitment, and with the significance and dedication, it not only led to the incredible rarity of such a cloth, but the belief it was a gift of either an immense repayment of a debt, or a gift to one the crane would pledge as their beloved. 

But Hrid was determined not to wait for such a time. He ignored and endured the lingering pain of the burning scars at his stomach as his retribution for failing his family and people. With the same will that could endure such pain, he was determined to just as readily endure far more.

He didn't _completely_ disregard their kindnesses. He took a bottle of vulnerary out from the supply drawer and drank it to prepare. But he barely waited for the medicine to take effect or dull his pain before he allowed himself to transform, and then tore away at the feathers to line his breasts and stomach.

The pain already dulled as his thoughts overtook him. The medicine's effects followed after, he was sure, but all he could think about was tearing at the feathers off his body with his beak, with little thought or care beyond ensuring the feathers weren't cut or broken mid-pluck.

He was a clumsy, lumbering creature no matter what form he took. His only redeeming quality were his feathers, and they had more value off his body than on him. He was an unusual, miserable creature, and he wasn't above punishing himself in light of such, feather by feather. 

Disgraceful.

A failure.

An ill-omened creature.

By the time he felt satisfied, his once glossy, smooth body was mutilated in bare patches and gaps along his wings. Already, the vulnerary was healing him in where he plucked himself bare with hints of where the patches were regrowing his down, but it would take longer for them to be fully restored. He was left with bundles upon bundles of his own feathers to work with and create his magical thread from, between the feathers that coated his body, or the longer primary feathers he tore off from along his wings.

As the crane shaped his body in the image his broken mind saw fit, Hrid finally allowed himself to transform back into his human form. But to his dismay, what greeted him were mysterious bruises, and awareness his stomach and chest were left raw once more between the vulnerary healing him, and his earlier attempts to indirectly tear open his earlier wounds.

He was pale, he looked weaker, and he was an utter mess of a sight to behold, but that disgusting creature with its selfish needs was reminded of its place. 

He caught his breath, regained his composure, and went to work on his weaving.

* * *

"Erin, go and rest immediately."

"I know, I know, and I will _soon_ , just not yet."

"Erin, please, if I have to carry you home myself, I will. You are in no condition to fight any further or remain even a moment longer! _Especially_ after what you did to the princesses of Muspell."

"Ryoma…"

_"Please…"_

"And did you honestly think you could hide _that_ for long? Please, go and rest, Erin. I'll drag you home and hold you down in bed if I have to…!"

"T-that's not necessary, Camilla, the point is well made… Sheesh…"

As if Erin could expect any less. Between Ryoma's and Camilla's words, and the way Lif stalked her until she proved she was heading straight home, the three wouldn't spare Erin even the slightest inch to wiggle out of this. 

Not that she could blame them, necessarily.

As planned, they realized that Surtr resurrected back in Muspell again. What's more, in all their planning, they were almost on the nose about who to expect where, thanks to the added time Lif's efforts leading up to now had put them several steps ahead of Surtr this time. 

First, they located Helbindi. At first, Camilla and Ryoma questioned why Lif would make the decision to bring along someone like Menja and Ylgr to the enemy frontlines, but once Helbindi was drawn close enough to him and the girls, the truth became clear based on his reaction to Menja in particular. Lif was firm yet blunt on his demands: Helbindi could have his sister back, but only if he took her and Ylgr away from Muspell and far and well out of this war. No matter how crass and immediately dismissive Helbindi was in distrusting a corpse-like general who previously 'kidnapped' his sister, it was Menja and Ylgr who pulled the bigger strings, and so Muspell was without a general as the three retreated back to Askr.

With Helbindi dealt with, the Niflians secured, and Veronica and Xander earlier driven out since their raid of Snjárhof, it left the princesses of Muspell to rescue and secure before cornering Surtr himself. 

Unfortunately, no matter how far Lif's experiences took him, there was only so much he could anticipate, especially for the sheer amount of differences he made this time.

With Surtr resurrected in Muspell's keep, it left him right where his daughters could find him, but also lured _them_ to the outrage and wrath that awaited them in checking on him. Without Ylgr, Menja, Helbindi or Xander to take his anger out on this time, Surtr had proved so heavily volatile that he wasn't above outright turning on Loki and burning the bridge with her and their alliance. As she realized her ties to Surtr became a lost cause with how things were now, it left Laegjarn and especially Laevateinn at an even bigger risk than before. He kept them alive only for the sake of making them prove themselves in combat one more time against Lif's and Bruno's forces. Should they fail, Surtr also was confident he had so thoroughly broken their wills and agencies, that they would have no second thought to pledge themselves to the Rite of Flames and sacrifice themselves to power himself up once more.

When Laegjarn was first backed into a wall, she nearly proved Surtr's theory right, and just as Lif remembered, she tried to begin her oath.

To Lif's horror, Erin was quick on her reflexes, but not so of thinking of all viable tactics in a panic, and in her desperations to save Laegjarn before she would ignite herself in yet another time, Erin body slammed into her and knocked her to the safety of the cold stone ground, but singed much of her side and lower arm in the process. It bought just enough time for Fjorm and Sharena to reason with her, and spare Erin even more burns from potentially repeating her stunt.

Though Laevateinn was significantly easier to coax into surrendering with Laegjarn's help, they weren't quick enough to spare the younger princess of wounds reminiscent of Hrid's. Despite Lif's protests, Erin tried to prove to Laegjarn of where her intentions laid, and she helped tend to Laevateinn's equally unique wounds and soothed much of her pain on the spot. Her wounds weren't as numerous or grim as Hrid's, but they were still dire enough for Erin not to wait, and it left her lovers on edge of how well she was holding up between the wounds she already sustained, or the wounds she took into herself that she took from Laevateinn.

She was strong enough to endure with little else but a smile and her usual sass, especially against the miserable excuse of a man she long since ran out of patience for. It was just enough on her part to hold on and hide the extent of her pain from Surtr's notice, up to and after the point she shot him between the eyes for the final time.

What led to the lengthy delay of going home, combined with why all her lovers turned on her in regards to letting Erin work, was when she passed out almost immediately after being utterly certain Surtr was gone for good, and her condition remained terrible even in spite of her attempts to self-heal, or Camilla's own attempts to mend her up to them reaching the infirmary back at the base of the Order of Heroes.

She vaguely remembered the way the three hovered over her and refused to leave her side from the point she woke up (if not earlier) to the point she could be trusted to head home again.

They all barely considered how much time would've passed from the point they left, to the point they arrived home. She was _told_ they were gone for about three days, but Erin felt so utterly lost in her sense of time right then that she would've gladly accepted any random number thrown at her first, and wouldn't question it.

As she was the first to arrive back, the sounds she made in the entire process stepping in was enough to alert Hrid and send him immediately to the front door. She didn't expect much about how the entire dormitory was left before, nor did the others, but it took her a moment to remind herself Hrid was still there, and more, he kept their home even tidier than when they left it.

"Erin, it's-" initially, he greeted her with a bright smile on his face, heavily relieved she came back alive. Much of that radiance dimmed, however, as he got a better look at her and realized she was hurt. The charring of her clothes and the visible limp made it immediately clear how.

"Hey…"

"Erin, you… Gods..." She got hurt because of Nifl's affairs. It was as good as saying she got hurt because of _him._ He didn't stop to consider how forward it was for someone like him to reach out and gently grab someone like her to pull in and lead to a couch. "Please, come here and rest, immediately.”

“Haha… You too, huh…?” But even if Erin could tease, she couldn’t really hold it against him. And despite her efforts, it did little to make light of the situation.

He helped her strip. Not quite completely down, and it was far from him to ask or assist in such, but it was just enough to see the extent that she was hurt. She was burned, that much had been certain. However, the burns themselves seemed to have been long since healed away, and while Hrid didn’t take pause long enough to consider it was not his place to intimately check her as he had, his panic and worries made him briefly forget such boundaries as he was vigilant of any signs of scars like his own.

To his immense relief, there were none. She wasn’t burned by the eternal flame like he was.

"You seem a little better…” In the entire time, Erin was patient, if flustered, By then, Hrid’s bruising had healed from the vulnerary, and he had managed to keep his raw wounds out of sight as the skin there was strengthening yet again under the eternal flame’s scars otherwise. The only tell that Hrid couldn’t erase of what he did to himself was his thinner, paler demeanor, which was easily mistaken for stress and worry, and more, paled in comparison to the more grizzly sight of him days earlier. “Give me a moment, and I’ll continue healing you.”

“I insist you refrain.” There was no more hesitance or meekness. He wouldn’t stand for it, even at the promise of easing his current, lingering pain. “It is thoroughly appreciated, but you need rest now.”

“Fair… I guess…” But she was still surprised and touched of his fussing and insistence. 

It was at least one of them accounted for, and as the fallout on Surtr’s death either eased in the lingering stress in the air, the rescued heroes were relocated or informed, or word of Surtr’s passing was spread otherwise, he eventually saw proof the others were alive and well, and were spared of the burns Erin braved through. At worst, they were exhausted, and had the typical wear and tear from being battle-worn. 

He carefully picked his moment well. Hrid waited until they were all safe, all accounted for, and watched them just enough to get a fair idea of their mood. Like Erin, they seemed relieved Hrid was, for the most part, fine. Also like Erin, they didn’t seem to mind Hrid worrying or fussing, and in a few cases like Ryoma, or particularly Camilla, they seemed good-humored enough to chuckle at his thoughtfulness, but even go out of their way to show certain areas of their bodies were truly as fine as they insisted.

“Fufufu, look, see? My arm is quite fine. But, dare I say, if you want to inspect _other_ areas so thoroughly, perhaps we should get to know each other a bit better than that first, hmm…?”

It didn’t cross Hrid’s mind of such gestures until Camilla’s words. She was teasing, but when it occurred to him what she might’ve meant, his cheeks were flushed, and he bent himself backwards to apologize to her for such conduct on his part. It only amused them more to see he was at least genuine with his quirkiness.

“Erin, may I have a word with you?”

Just as they all seemed settled once more, and just when he felt that he caught Erin in a fair mood, he approached her. She didn’t seem to mind him, and lately, he couldn’t help but feel how relaxed all of them were in general around him more. In some ways, he also relaxed considerably to have them all return once more. 

She wasn’t sure, however, of what to make of it when Hrid approached her in a way that he was obviously holding a bolt of fabric. Even in the glimpse she saw of it in Hrid’s hands, and in its rolled up state, it was a shade of off-white that held a blue tint, heavily reminding her of a pearl. There was an iridescent sheen that strengthened such a comparison that she took even more notice of, as its glossiness revealed itself every time Hrid moved or shifted, be it himself, or his hold on the bolt otherwise.

“My apologies, I do realize it is highly rude of me to eavesdrop, but… Please, take this. I am certain it will fetch a price high enough to ease your financial burdens.”

She was even less prepared for Hrid to hold out the bolt for her, with clear expectation for her to take it. 

“You…. where…. And you want me to _what?_ This…? You want me to sell this…?”

She was floored. However, she was also horrified that somehow, over the course of the time it took to finally kill Surtr for good, Hrid would magically pull out a shiny, shimmery bolt of fabric out from somewhere, and the only suggestion he had for it was to sell it. Was it from his convoy? Was it typical Niflian fabric? Why did he decide _now_ was the time to present such to her? Or what made him decide to present such to her in the first place regardless?

In truth, Erin wasn’t quite so strapped. Not anymore. Ryoma wasn’t shy about trying to offload all manner of trinkets he held no attachment to, and often urged her to sell to give her a tidy sum to splurge with. Camilla was even less shy, particularly with gifts she would reassure time and again had originally came from many a hapless oaf who thought they could easily buy her heart with pretty, usually combat-worthless weapons made of gold or encrusted with gemstones, or jewelry of all kinds that were made for the sake of being pretty, and looked about as generic as much of the other treasures hoarded in Nohr’s treasury. To say nothing of Henriette’s continued attempts to try to include Lif more and more into her family, whether or not he was comfortable of such prospects, least of all to take advantage of it to spoil Erin otherwise of the matter.

Selling such a bolt was out of the question.

“Er, I… You didn’t have to….” She straightened herself up, smiling, if nervously, at clearly being out of her element with something like this. “Thank you, Hrid.”

But even while he smiled warmly to her in the moment, when they drifted, he couldn’t help but watch her in the corner of his eye, noticing where she was taking the bolt. She didn’t head straight out the dormitory, least of all to the market there. Despite the urgency and dire straits of her money woes (or so he had believed of them), the bolt was carried off and disappeared deep into her room instead, with little more than a passing laugh from Ryoma when he noticed her carrying it around, and moreso the flushed look on her face while doing it.

Hrid hid his shame and disappointments behind closed doors back in his room. Erin didn’t like it. Surely that was the reason, right? He had botched up the bolt of fabric so badly that Erin, who he imagined to have quite the keen eye in fabric quality (despite little in the way of evidence to draw this conclusion from), felt his cloth was so worthless, that it was not even worthy of a gold coin. 

He had feared for such an outcome. With how stressed and worried he was over them and their safety, perhaps such fears bled onto the fabric and ruined the quality. Worried it would paint an even worse outlook onto him, he couldn’t let it stand, and he vowed that, now that they were safe, he needed to make an even finer bolt of fabric this time to make up for his failings from before. 

When he was sure he would be left alone, he locked the door. Once again, he stripped down and transformed. Once again, he would punish himself for his failures, and remind himself of how miserable a creature he was that he couldn’t even create the cloth his kind was so widely known for. Cranes were the failures among herons, but Hrid knew he was a failure even among cranes. 

And so he tore into himself and ripped away his feathers with his beak once more.


End file.
